As I peel the wallpaper back, the thick soup of stick releases and falls to the floor triumphant. There was only this hand and the paper until at last the under glow, the white base of opportunity pulls the light and gasps for unencumbered air. I build speed and scrape silently, involved in the uncovering, in breathing new life in once dead things. Until the process is internal, the wallpaper struck from the walls, to leave a labyrinth of paste and rawness. The pulse bridging into my fingertips, traveling up my arms, and I see the simplest acts as lessons. Standing in the middle of my base, the past pulled and pushed until I no longer find meaning in the once meaningful. All that remains is the soft circuits of breath and echoes through emptiness.